


Why Did You Leave? Letters to Laurens.

by Melladosia



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Closeted Character, Love Letters, M/M, POV Male Character, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 05:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14635359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melladosia/pseuds/Melladosia
Summary: "I was not about to let that become a reality- it was preferable that all of the scenarios remain in my mind, shared with nobody until finally I forgot about them, and they were never to actually be played out.Yet here I am, telling you everything. I know it won't make up for leaving you-nothing I could say nor do ever could justify that. But you deserve to know every detail that made my decision final.And this letter is only the beginning. The first of many more to come."When Alexander Hamilton's first encounter with Aaron Burr doesn't go quite as planned, Alex suddenly finds himself focused on someone other than his Princeton Idol that night.After approaching the man by the name of, he'd soon learn, John Laurens, an instant soulful  connection is made. They swap names and adresses, planning to have dinner almost a week later. One thing leads to another that night. You know the rest.The two soon take part in a secret relationship. Alexander is very fearful of John's openness- especially in public. No. One. Most. Know. And John trying to hold hands in the eye of everyone watching isn't exactly the best way to achieve this. Who knows what their punishment for homosexuality would be?





	1. Letter 1

Dearest Laurens.

Before I forget my detailed recollection of the night we met, allow me to rudely replace my greeting with my rather long story of that unforgettable moment leading up to our eyes being locked together for the first time.

The glow of candles shining through passing windows. A shadowy form's reflection flat on the ground, walking as I walked, talking as I talked, and copying the hand movements I absentmindedly formed whenever I spoke to myself. My hair fell over my eyes- blocking them from a fraction of the sheer sliver of candlelight, and for a moment I was distracted from the always changing shadow in front of me. I never cared much for walking.

But alas, a poor man faces only that one option, and that option alone. And so I kept on walking- and walking- ignoring my hesitation and focusing on my shadow instead. Was I nervous to reach my destination? Very much so. Ever since leaving the Caribbean and reaching New York millions of fantasies of this moment had come and gone through my head.

Most of the fantasies included things that would never happen. Such as, he walks out of the bar and introduces himself to me instead of the other way around. That'd be easier. Another one included him being interested in meeting me after hearing of my ambitious dreams of attending Kings College.... not vice versa, with my interest formed in his insanely quick graduation from Princeton. As nonsense or as random as my dreams of tonight got, none of them included a scene where I was sulking quietly- talking to myself and staring down my shadow. But in all of my imaginary scenarios, I was sweaty and unmistakably troubled. In none of them were I confident. Although I was a dreamer, I was a realistic one.

Long story short, I was very nervous to meet Aaron Burr.

My hands were slick with nervous sweat as I entered the bar. I had no idea what to expect. That is, unless this played out like I fantasized it would. It wouldn't. But I didn't know that yet.

I saw him sitting alone at the bar area. Okay, I'd imagined a scenario like that. Now if only he had a cup of Sam Adams in front of him like I'd pictured in the same detailed dream. As I approached, however, I noticed the absence of a glass in front of him. That cut off the possibility of a certain dream being the same all the way through. In that fantasy, he saw me eyeing the glass and offered to buy me one. What was he doing here, if not to drink? Had he just not been here long? I saw no bartender pouring a glass nearby.

I slid into the empty seat beside him.  
This was happening. Whether it was the same as one of my dreams or not.  
He turned to look at me in surprise as I shook violently. This was my shot before I became too nervous to carry on.  
In fact, I'd imagined a scenario where I was right in the middle of meeting Burr, before I suddenly felt sick with nerves and ran straight out of the bar, without looking behind me again. I was not about to let that become a reality- it was preferable that all of the scenarios remain in my mind, shared with nobody until finally I forgot about them, and they never actually were to be played out.

Yet here I am, telling you everything. I know it won't make up for leaving you-nothing I could say nor do could ever justify that. But you deserve to know every detail that made my decision final.

And this letter is only the beginning. The first of many more to come.

"PardonmeareyouAaronBurrsir?" Oh god, what a failure. My words sounded slurred- as if I'd gotten drunk at another bar in town and walked myself to this one because I'd been kicked out for some kind of rambunctious act. He looked at me in the examining kind of curiosity, narrowing his eyes. I could almost read his thoughts- he wanted to be smart and say "Well, that would depend on who's asking." But he must've decided against it, because he gave a slight nod in lieu.

"I-I'm Alexander Hamilton."  
In one of my fantasies, after I'd said my name, he'd replied "I'm Aaron Burr. I think we'll get along just fine." And I hoped that was what he'd actually say.

By now, my words had found a way to divide themselves apart to form an actual sentence. I outreached my hand in greeting. Aaron gave me a small glance of confusion before grabbing my hand and slowly shaking it up and down awkwardly with me. Afraid he would feel the sweat gathered in the crevices of my palms, I retreated and cleared my throat. Burr glanced at something behind him before turning back to me. "I-I heard your name at Princeton? Y-you're the one who graduated in two years. I was wondering how-um- how you did it-um- sir?"  
I was a nervous wreck. Burr looked at me as if I had just risen out of the floor to greet him instead of walking through the bar door like a normal human being.  
I could tell he'd never been approached like this before. Or, if he had, it hadn't been because the person recognized his name from Princeton.

Aaron's wandering gaze flitted around until it landed on me and slightly hardened. His tongue glided over his teeth before they bit down on it and drew blood. I flinched, but Aaron released the pressure on his tongue a couple seconds later in order to speak. "I'm an orphan. Before my parents died, they wished for my graduation from Princeton. I then took it upon myself to gather motivation, and that allowed me to finish quicker than necessary."

His voice was slightly grumpy and tired, and embarrassment flooded through me. But if I did not continue then I'd regret it for the rest of my life. It's not every day you get to meet Aaron Burr.

It was either get everything off of my mind now... or live a lifetime of regret.

"Excuse me- but- um- have you ever.. I don't know... wished for a war?" After I got an even more estranged glance from that comment, I turned red but quickly added, "oh- um to prove your worth! I'm an orphan too- you see- and we're ridiculously underrated, don't you think?" I fake-laughed in an attempt to lighten the tightly-knitted mood that left me feeling as though I were set on fire from the amount of sweat I was producing now.

This failed. Burr blinked, acknowledging my question, but did not share my laugh.  
He was quiet for some time before mumbling the following words of which I would never forget.

"Kid, you'll get yourself killed. Take my advice- stay low and out of public. Keep your mouth shut. Smile more- even if it's fake. And whatever you do, don't let them know what you stand for, nor what you're opposed to. Got that, Alexander?"

"Y-yessir."

I watched as Burr stood up and walked straight out of the bar, arms at his side but his head low. At the entrance he hesitated. He turned back to face me, glaring coldly.  
"Go home, Alexander."  
And then he swung open the door, letting himself out.

Everything was going wrong with this. I was so embarrassed. There was nothing I wanted more than to up and leave right then, but a long time after Burr did to avoid an accidental second meeting outside.

But I stayed. Imagine what would've happened if I'd just.. left. Or, rather, what wouldn't have happened.

Because right then I turned to the only occupied table in the room.

And I saw you, John. You were staring back. Your freckles dotted the bridge of your nose like little humans looked at in aerial view, frozen in motion. Our stare carried on as I continued to take you in a little more, seeing your curly hair tied up together neatly, like my own. Although mine was straight and very messily thrown together from my haste in making sure I'd be able to meet Burr in time. I cared about how photogenic I may have been in meeting Burr in that moment, but when you searched my face, I forgot every flaw that I knew I was made up of. I'd lost the sense of that carefree feeling throughout my years of menial labor in the Caribbean and educational focus in New York, when every mistake I made was either harshly pointed out by my own self or more gently by someone else. Because of you, I was able to experience it again. And that meant more to me than anything written in this letter could explain. But, anyways, onto your eyes, which is what I noticed first about you but didn't immediately take time to study thoroughly.

They were so blue. So pure. I was quite taken aback at the mere sight of them, so imagine how I felt once truly observing them to search for poetic value I knew was there.

You never knew this, John, but when I was growing up in the Caribbean and responsible for a trading charter, my favorite job was going inside the small ships we had to document cargo.  
Because I got to go outside late at night.  
And I got to stare at the ocean. Although, maybe it was more photogenic during the daytime, when the dark cyan abyss of ocean mixed together with a more innocent light blue sky.

Perhaps whenever I think of this blend of colors joining together so smoothly nowadays, I pictured us. I was the dark, unfathomable pit of things to hide. You were the innocent sky positioned bravely right above that reached higher and higher-neverending.

Our differences were very noticeable, but when we were placed together, they became oh so insignificant. You helped me so much with said differences. They made me forget everything. My past my shame my guilt my enemies my encounter with Burr my itch to write my fear of running out of time-

Anyways.

When I had time off, I sat in the same spot I did when working. The island had little to no entertainment, but that was fine with me. Because I found it right there. Right with the ocean. I got to see my only source of beauty in a cold world of grief and loss.

That was the color of your eyes, John.

Your stare was only broken when one of your friends- Marquis de Lafayette, now my good friend as well- tapped you on the shoulder and pointed to the third man seated at the table-another of our mutual friends, known as Hercules Mulligan- as he balanced several spoons on his face at once. You pretended to have an interest and you fake-laughed exactly like I did. Except for less awkwardly. Because those are our friends, and Burr is not one of them. So there's no reason to be awkward with them.

But when I decided to walk over after your attention returned to me, you seemed fidgety and nervous. Again- that was just like I was before greeting Burr.

And you slowly gained confidence. I sat down, earning wide smiles from Hercules and Lafayette. I hadn't a clue what I'd done to earn them in the first place but I accepted the friendliness nonetheless. It was a nice break after Burr's short-tempered straightforwardness with me. You looked up, with your eyes peeking out at me from all of the curls. When I looked in front of you, I saw two empty glasses and one full, but smaller, shot glass. And in it? You guessed it... Sam Adams.

It was like everything I'd pictured with Burr- if it had gone right. But instead, it was with you. So I guess it had gone right.  
Or else I never would've noticed you staring.

We introduced ourselves, and when it came around to you, I found myself more interested than I had been with learning Hercules' and Lafayette's names. You introduced yourself as John Laurens.

And guess what you said?

"I think we'll get along just fine."


	2. Letter 2

Dearest Laurens.

I can only hope that you have received my previous letter. It would be comforting to receive a response to assure that you're the one getting these, and nobody else. I pray nobody else is reading this besides you. I never thought of that.

Purposely, no return address was included, ensuring the impossibility of finding myself with the letter back in my own tired hands.

Of course, I'd understand why you'd like to send it back if that was a choice. You're angry- you're confused, you feel betrayed. And, if you're reading this letter, you're searching for an apology of some sort. Maybe a trace of regret. Or a sign that I'm returning to greet you back in New York to beg for your forgiveness (even though I know you wouldn't leave South Carolina to do so.)

Or maybe you're not. Though you're one of the only people to truly know of my intellect, besides perhaps George Washington himself, you should know even my brain cannot fathom words that I can write down to truly get to you after I followed through with such an unforgivable lie. A lie I told you repeatedly. That I confirmed was not a lie, but secretly was.

I know what you said. And I know what I said. I'm rather sure you too remember every word said that night, but what you couldn't know was my inner intentions that filtered out as streams of lies as they passed my teeth.

If you don't remember, this is what was said. I helplessly lie awake night after night reciting every single comment made. It only makes sense that I remember everything.

I had just returned from a meeting out of town. Not with Washington; he was out convincing soldier-worthy men to join the cause on his own (accompanied by that goddamn Charles Lee and two more anonymous soldiers) because Congress sure as hell was not willing to assist us. I learned that the hard way. Every letter authored in my writing, by my hands, slaved for hours at once near a dying candle in order to bring perfection to each cursive sentence was a waste of time. It makes me so angry to imagine those high-level assholes taking one glance at my letter before throwing it out.

The meeting was with nearby volunteer soldiers who all had met Washington before, and were suggesting to each other the possibilities of where we would all be stationed next (two of them had even fought in the Battle of Bunker Hill) after all, there couldn't be too much of the war left to fight. It had been dragging on for 7 long years- what had we left to prove other than our independence?

Men had rumored that we'd be stationed for a revolutionary battle in Yorktown. Today, Marquis de Lafayette had confirmed our suspicions.

"I have heard the whisperings of your side conversations, the rumors of your thoughts. After many brutal shortcomings that we have faced throughout this war we deserve a powerful, unforgettable conclusion. People will never forget the Battle of Yorktown!"

Men cheered, and sorts of alcohol were passed around the room- the cheap kind we could afford but still got the job done. I stayed far away from it. I already knew what I wanted to do, and it haunted me.

But enough of war talk. As I walked through the door, you ran down and leaped into my arms, but I didn't complain, you were always light. 

"John," However, I said breathlessly, your lips on mine for what felt like hours, "I haven't even shut the door yet. You know what I've said about doing this in places where people could see." You hopped down, discouraged.

Peeking outside, I exhaled in relief to find the night streets deserted. I closed the door and turned to you, motioning to the couch. You settled in on my lap, and I could feel you shudder.

"What's up with you?" Worried, I ran a hand through your hair, tangling my fingers in your curls. I loved your hair. I felt comforted by the warmth of your body curled up against mine, and upon seeing your distraught face I pulled you closer.

'Hey." I whispered. I recognized the glitter of tears in your eyes. Little people knew of your sensitivity- men of war weren't expected to be easily affected and emotional. 

But then again, they weren't supposed to be homosexual, either.

You gazed up at me and suddenly I felt very exposed.

"You want to leave for Yorktown, don't you." 

Your words sounded more like an accusation rather than a question. 

"John-" I tried to pull you close, but you turned away, hiding your face. Your entire body stiffened.

"The British are badly outnumbered. I've left before, what's different this t-"

Suddenly, you turned around to glare at me. A fierceful, distraught, hurt glare. You hopped off my lap and started to pace around, looking on the verge of a panic attack. You spun around and your hair flew back, fear captivated in your eyes. 

"Everything is different, Alex. This battle is going to be huge. Why can't you just stay here? When will it be enough for you?" You paused, having crossed the room to sit right in front of me. I didn't know how to respond. I always wanted to be more than I was. 

We looked at each other for a long time.

You pulled me into a long, deep kiss and then held our foreheads together for some time. I then pulled you in again, unable to resist you. You pushed me backwards onto the couch and continued this, and I remember the thought of leaving vanishing from my head for that moment.

"I'll stay." I breathed, exhaling deeply as the energy around us danced excitedly. I gazed up at you, utterly in love as your eyes dripped with relief. 

"Let's go into the bedroom." You winked at me, taking my hand. I went to follow with no hesitation, in a sort of daze. Just then I heard something tap on the window. I flung my head around, startled.

"What?" You asked, still holding onto my hand.

I stared intently at the source of the noise. "Go ahead, babe. I'll be there in a second."

You nodded and headed into the bedroom, pulling your shirt over your head and disappearing past the door frame.

I neared the window, squinting my eyes to peer into the night and moving aside the burgundy curtains. At first, I could see nothing. And then...

I was face to face with Charles Lee.

Upon being spotted the man hurriedly leaped up and tripped over himself running away, disappearing from sight. My heart pounded. How much had he seen?

Too much. That was what I knew. 

Face red with fear, I slowly stood up and followed you, knowing now what I must do.

I'd stay with you tonight- make beautiful love for perhaps the last time.

But then, I'd be gone. Lee was not to be trusted.

And I had to protect you.


End file.
